


Gingerbread & co.

by Zelda_writes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, M/M, Slice of Life, chef school au, france setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:23:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelda_writes/pseuds/Zelda_writes
Summary: “If you scowl any longer at the window, it will shatter. I’m too young to die from exposure,” Tsukishima said, interrupting the silence. He lounged devouring a book on a settle beside the hearth, nonetheless wrapped into blankets like a burrito. A considerable amount of cushions arranged around and beneath him softened the old wood of the bench. The image of a lazy, perpetually cold venerable aunt. If he hadn’t just spoken, Kageyama would have thought none other than him occupied the common room.





	Gingerbread & co.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elliejoys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliejoys/gifts).



> Hello elliejoys, this is your gift for dailyhaikyuu Secret Santa 2018. I am deeply sorry that I am so late. I hope you can forgive me. This is a multichapter fic, already wholly outlined. I’ll try to update it as soon as possible, because you deserve a finished gift. In the meantime, I wish you a happy new year!

For several minutes, flowing rain and thunders had rumbled in his ears, thumping down to his marrow. To worsen his mood, the fireplace crackled in such an inviting way it fed his growing guilt. While he lazied around in a warm room, Hinata could be outdoors in that weather or, perhaps, he took cover in a deserted, cold corner of the mansion. Those images stung his brain with the force of a hundred needles. Every other second, he looked up from the book he pretended to read and stared at the trees surrounding the building. They swayed, manhandled by the billowing wind, predicting any kind of bad luck.

“If you scowl any longer at the window, it will shatter. I’m too young to die from exposure,” Tsukishima said, interrupting the silence. He lounged devouring a book on a settle beside the hearth, nonetheless wrapped into blankets like a burrito. A considerable amount of cushions arranged around and beneath him softened the old wood of the bench. The image of a lazy, perpetually cold venerable aunt. If he hadn’t just spoken, Kageyama would have thought none other than him occupied the common room. Unfazed by the lack of response, his colleague kept reading, and Kenma hummed, tucked beside Tsukishima, only the top of his head peeking out from their cocoon.

“I hate downpours,” Kageyama replied.  
“Don’t worry, seeing your angry face, those evil clouds are going to settle like lambs.”  
“Cut it.”  
A small frown twitched on his friend’s face for an instant, leaving soon room for his usual calm expression. “Your wish is my command.”  
Even Tsukishima seemed to acknowledge his worry and, goading him, he offered an occasion to take his frustration out. But may he be damned if he said a word about-  
“Where’s Shouyou?” Kenma asked, surging a bit from his shelter.

Kageyama made the mistake of looking in his direction, being the small blonde one of the few persons he couldn’t lie. Those cat eyes bore holes through him every single time Kenma asked something he demanded a serious answer to. “I don’t know,” Kageyama murmured.  
  
The answer caught Tsukishima’s attention. He plopped his book on a shelf right above his head and turned to better face Kageyama, adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose. A couple of pillows thudded on the floor. “Considering your distraught appearance, should we worry?” The moment dragged, “are you going to tell us or do I have to start a guess game?”

Full of bottled up emotions, Kageyama glanced down, fiddling with the hem of his sleeves. Curious, a shy gesture his snarky friend had successfully dropped but that he picked along the road. He relented, accepting whatever help they were offering. “We had a bad fight.” No one dared to ask further questions. Bless them, rare human beings who valued privacy. Most of the times.

“Maybe he’s with Tadashi,” Kenma tried.  
When he looked up at him, Kageyama resembled someone who was praying a statue to chase away his worries. “No…”  
Tsukishima carded a hand through his hair, “chances are he’s badmouthing you with Bokuto. Or Hitoka.”  
“Neither of them.”  
“Ah!” his colleague continued, for a fleeting moment a mischievous glint in his eyes, “that would be fitting: Oika-”  
Kageyama interrupted him, “no. I already sent a message in the group chat. Only you two and Kuroo didn’t reply. Besides, Oikawa and Iwaizumi went shopping an hour ago.” As Kenma made a “brrr” noise in response, a wave of nausea assaulted him; his head spun at the thought of Hinata alone in the storm.

“I’m calling Suga-san,” declared Kenma, wiggling inside the blankets, “he befriended the gamekeeper.”  
Even thou he dreaded Suga’s reaction, Kageyama had rather be skinned alive by him than spending another second worrying. Exhausted, he dragged his hands over his face. In the rash of hanger, Hinata surely didn’t stop to consider staying indoors.

Lost in his thoughts and paying no mind to the phone call, Kageyama absently watched the pair in front of him. Tsukishima brushed a little caress on Kenma’s cheek, muttering a “sorry,” and started to untangle his limbs as he climbed out of his makeshift shelter. His coat, scarf, mittens and ear warmers soon engulfed his whole body.

Confused, Kageyama asked, “what are you doing?” However, his question fell on deaf ears.  
Kenma huffed, stood up as well and padded towards Kageyama. A warm touch soon settled on his shoulder, Kenma’s blanket enveloped his back. “Let’s check indoors.”  
“We’ll scour these dusty hallways,” said Tsukishima, covering his mouth with the scarf like a bandit.

***

“What was your argument about?” Kenma asked.  
“Save your eloquence for when we find Shrimpy. Give us the shortened version.” Whenever he got tired, Tsukishima tended to go back to the first version of his snarkiness. “Don’t waste time with sugaring the pill because you hate losing your face in front of us.”  
However, in the last years his friend had become quicker to apologize, in his own way. Kageyama wondered who they all should thank for this change: Kuroo, Kenma, Yamaguchi, or even Hinata. Not to count Bokuto and Akaashi. Really, a high number of persons who Tsukishima held dear.

“You know the Cordon Bleu contest, right? He signed up. The both of us, as a team. Obviously, without telling me.” After having swept every kitchen-related room and each recreational room the mansion offered, they were exploring the umpteenth hall.  
“Did he apologise after?” asked Kenma.  
“Of course not,” Kageyama grunted, “he thought it would be a great Christmas present. In the beginning, I hoped he was joking. But that stupid sparkle in his eyes told me… he wouldn’t understand me.” He halted his steps, bowed his head, bangs covering his eyes. “Yet, full knowing it would be cruel to crush his dreams, I yelled at him.”

After a bit of silence, Tsukishima said, “better we check the library as well. It’s the last place he expects you to search him.” Leading the way, he tossed above his shoulder, “had I been in your shoes, Tetsurou would have lain cold dead at the side of the most deserted road of this merry village.”

One of the rare occasions Tsukishima openly comforted him. Was it so bad from him that the thing consoled him? “Still, I said terrible words.”  
“You had any reason to be angry.” Kenma reasoned.  
Kageyama wanted so much to deem his words final. Maybe he needed someone who lightened the burden of his guilt.  
“I regret all of them,” he bitterly laughed, “my pride.”  
“In a renowned competition like this, a debacle would destroy your career for god knows how many months.” When Kageyama didn’t reply, Tsukishima cleared his throat, “but I think you two, freak combo, may have snatched a good position.”  
In any other occasion, Kageyama would have been delighted to hear such a praise, especially since it came from person careful in speech as Tsukishima was. But in those circumstances it cut through his soul like a flaming blade.


End file.
